A Prayer
by SlightlyPanickedPanda
Summary: Dean and Rose, one night stand AU. Mentions of abuse/abusive relationship.


_Doctor Who is owned by BBC and Supernatural is owned by CW. Just borrowing for a time._

 _Wrote this for a friend._

 _Want a certain prompt with Dean and Rose? Don't be afraid to request._

 _-Panda_

 _*TRIGGER WARNING* Mentions of abuse, and abusive relationships, please keep aware of this, and do not read if it will be harmful in any way to your mental or emotional health._

She wasn't used to this. She didn't do this. She kept to herself. She didn't pick up guys in smoke-filled bars, especially not excessively handsome ones with wide smiles, and sad eyes.

 _She runs her nails through the short hair over his ears and he growls, nibbling at the skin under her ear. She tilts her head back and he traces her throat with his lips, leaving fire in his wake._

Rose hadn't even been in a bar in well over two years, not since the days of Jimmy Stone and his band. She hadn't had a drop of alcohol in four years, and that was one thing that she didn't stray from. Alcohol made her fuzzy, and the last time she went fuzzy she woke up with Jimmy. Or the Worst Mistake of Her Life, as she not-so-fondly named him.

 _She decides he's far too dressed and takes it upon herself to lift the hem of his white undershirt and slip it over his head, revealing a wide plane of hardened, tan torso and chest. She pauses a breath, staring down at this gorgeous stranger leaning back on his forearms on_ _her_ _bed, gazing at_ _her_ _like she's the most gorgeous thing in the world._

She was supposed to meet someone there for a date, and she only said yes because it was five minutes from her apartment. It was also the first time she had been on a date in two years, but who's counting. She arrived early and ordered a Shirley Temple, and the date never arrived at all.

 _She's straddling his jean clad hips, exploring the wide expanse of torso now available to her. His skin is littered with silvery scars of different shapes and sizes. She presses a kiss to each one she discovers; he sucks in a breath each time, but doesn't stop her._

She met his eyes across the bar, and normally she would've immediately looked away. Normally she would've immediately gone home, Jimmy's voice whispering in the back of her mind. Normally, normally, normally. But this wasn't normal. He wasn't normal. It was his eyes that stopped her.

 _Eyes that now glide over her undressed body, landing on the burn marks on her upper thigh, tracing the silver-pink scar snaking its way up from her hip. He follows the path of his eyes with his lips, his tongue, breath soft and warm over her skin._

He came over to her, asked with a tilt of his head to sit next to her. And she nodded, despite Jimmy's voice in the back of her mind screaming, **NO NO NO**. He didn't offer to buy her a drink, which she liked. He told her his name, and offered a strong, callused hand.

 _Strong, callused hands glide down her back, to her sides, down her thighs. But he doesn't try and flip her, doesn't try to be on top, which she likes. She braces her forearms on the bed on either side of his head, tendrils of golden hair hanging down around their faces in a halo of sun. She kisses him, long and hard, and he pushes back her hair, framing her face with a soft hand._

He flirted with her, but not obscenely. Not like Jimmy, with his too loud jokes, and his sleazy pick-up lines, and his ogling eyes. She had liked his attention at the time. Jimmy was in a band, and he had chosen her. She didn't like the attention so much when the loud jokes turned to loud insults, and the sleazy pick-up lines turned to cigarettes put out on her skin, and the ogling eyes turned to pinching fingers, and slapping, groping hands. Turned to blooming bruises, and tired eyes, and flinching at loud noises.

 _He lets her take off his jeans, lets her take the lead. They go slow, each of them protecting their own wounds, trying not to startle the other. He calls her beautiful, whispers her name like his saving grace, and he doesn't feel like a stranger. He feels like coming up for air, when she didn't know she was drowning._

She asked him back to her apartment, the words slipping out despite the ever present cautions and warnings and Jimmy's voice, thriving in the background of her mind. She had lived the last two years of her life with cautions and warnings, and all she truly wanted to do, in that moment, sitting next to a dazzling stranger in a smoky bar, was heal the sadness in his eyes, and kiss the constant smirk off his lips.

 _She's still on top, her hair a messy, wild halo around her head. The smirk is gone now, but she keeps kissing him anyway. With every moaned compliment, every kiss placed on her skin, Jimmy's voice in the back of her head grows weaker and weaker, cracking and breaking, sand grains carried away on the wind. She's being consumed by fire. She's becoming the fire. She's a supernova, burning up from the inside out, and she wants the last words on her lips to be his name, a prayer, and a promise, kept between them and the heavens above._

" _Dean."_


End file.
